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Mother Confessor:

Wiping the beaded sweat off my brow as I wipe down the fixtures in the bathroom. Sergeant Nimix still overseeing my toil. I was grateful to have been given a real mop to swab the mass expanse of the metal floor with, instead of having to scrub the vastness with an insignificant brush. I continue my work detail vigorously. Ignoring the small screams from my body, that has never been through such strenuous activity before.

With sore and raw hands, I push onward with the process. Keeping the image of one day piloting my own armor, as I clean the massive bathroom. Wiping down the polished ceramic counters and sinks. Sanitizing them from bacteria and grit. Envisioning my slender hand pushing the throttle in the cockpit of a war frame. A smile breaks onto my face at the image in my mind. Glancing over at the Sergeant, she too has a wry smile upon her hard face. Turning back to my task, wanting to gain her approval through my eagerness to succeed in my given assignment.

Marckus:

Pouring the last cup from the pot of coffee, now cooled by time. I ponder on how I shall repay my sniper for shouldering the approaching sucker punch mission to be exacted on Callisto. Digging the deep recesses of my memory, searching for adequate payment for the execution of her pivotal role in the plan. Taking a swig of cold coffee as it bitterly fills my mouth. Diving into history looking for an inkling of what the General would consider to be fair debt payment.

Taking another cold and bitter drink from the cup, my thoughts take me back further into history. Still hunting the past for anything that will be a suitable token. Then like a slap in the face it hits me. Remembering a point in history during the final years of the war between the Confederation and the Martian Colonial. There was a sniper that rose to prominence in the Martian Colonial Corp. Unable to recall his name at the moment, taking another swig from the half empty cup of cold bitter liquid. Trying to remember the name of the soldier in question.

Another slap in the face, as I remember the dead soldiers name amongst other things. Lieutenant Matious Vischenko of the Martian Colonial Corp. Weapon of choice, a custom bull pup seven-millimeter precision sniper rifle with a twenty round magazine. Firing high velocity armor piercing tungsten bullets. Truly a master snipers rifle. The legendary weapon is one that most that specialize in long range combat fawn over.

To the best of my knowledge it is kept stripped down in a custom made case made of the finest Martian White Oak. Expertly hand crafted and branded in the hard flesh, the Martian Colonial emblem, an iron fist clasping a broad sword framed with laurels that grow in the Chryse Planitia region. Just north of the eastern tip of the Valles Marineris, is where it can be found.

Mars has changed a lot since being terraformed. Pockets of lush growth everywhere on the surface. The radiation levels lowered, but still have an effect on the populace, as well as the plant and animal life there. During the early years of colonization, when trade between Terra and Mars were open and welcoming. Shipments of fruit crates carried with them spiders. In the passage of time and exposure to the radiation, the spiders evolved and mutated. Living in the deep deserts around the globe, living off the smaller life forms that were also unleashed onto the red planet. According to the last analysis, I had read on the subject. The giant desert dwelling spiders live in underground enclaves. Having a very rudimentary hierarchy, like tribal clans between the three prominent species. Sometimes in small hunting parties, they will wander near the colony, and are known to be highly aggressive towards the Colonials when confronted with their trespass of territorial boundaries.

The spiders have even been observed showing a form of higher intellect over their Terran brethren. Working together to accomplish things, as opposed to cannibalizing each other. Very rarely are they overtly aggressive to those who stray into the deep deserts. There are documented attacks on humans and Greys that wander to close to a colony hole. Estimated that they are a real threat at about a hundred-meter perimeter of any given colony. Orchestrating a well-observed behavior of surrounding the intruder if they fail to move after a warning is issued. As a warning to such an intrusion consists of the larger “soldier” spiders tapping angrily on the ground with their front legs, with their body raised up at an angle as a show of dominance. If that does not ward off the offender, then they will surround them and heard them to the nest. No one knows for sure what happens in this event. Lots of speculation though. Ranging from being put to work, to being butchered like livestock and eaten.

I had always surmised that the hunters would just go with the predatory impulse and eat the offending party in a communal fashion. The oddest thing I remember is that the spiders like to make a form of music by rapping on a hollow log with their powerful-clawed feet. I have never had the pleasure of hearing, let alone understanding this bizarre ritual. The standing theory is that they create for themselves a form of amusement. It has been said they play quite the cadence when there is a small group playing the natural instruments. The Martians call the sound the Desert Bellows, because it echoes in the vastness of the deserts in the thin atmosphere. They also say it varies by clan, and the indigenous fauna outlying the particular desert.

Now leaving my thoughts to roam about the Martian Spiders, having found the perfect way to pay back the sniper. If the spiders are that smart, then they surly have made headway since I had last heard about their existence on the blood red sphere. Perhaps they are evolved enough for some sort of trade, or work with the Colonials in some fashion. That mystery shall remain, until we make berth and I set my worn boots on the red planet once more.